J Gents Per Gopy 




R. B. Mcknight e company, Chicago 



OPIE READ 
IN THE OZARKS 



INCLUDING MANY OF THE RICH, RARE, QUAINT, 
ECCENTRIC, IGNORANT AND SUPER- 
STITIOUS SAYINGS OF THE 
NATIVES OF 

MISSOURI AND ARKANSAW 



BY 

OPIE READ 



PICTURES BY 

F. I. WETHERBEE, Chicago 



CHICAGO 

R. B. Mcknight & co. 

87-91 Plymouth place 



^ 1 905 

/}u^^ ru Xac. Mo; l 



Copyright, 1905 

BY 

R. B. MCKNIGHT & CO. 

CHICAGO 



All of the subject matter, as well as the illustrations, contained in 
this book are fully protected by copyright, and their use in 
any form whatsoever is prohibited, and any in- 
fringement will be vigorously prose- 
cuted by the publishers. 



"SHAKE HANDS WITH MR. READ/' 

SAYS COLONEL VISSCHER. 

The publisher of this book has asked me to write an 
introduction to it. In this the pubHsher becomes the 
humorist. That I, or anyone else, should write an 
introduction to a book by Opie Read is howling and 
hilarious humor in itself. 

However — and what a bulging barricade ''How- 
ever" is! However, once when I was visiting Bill 
Nye in his editorial rooms over a livery stable, he 
said : 

"Now get in, old man, and write something to help 
fill up my page and the sooner we will get out and 
have some fun with the boys." 

This was long before Nye had any boys of his own, 
and I never have had any. So of course he meant 
other people's boys. 

"What shall I write about?" was propounded to 
Nye. 

"Oh ! write about a column," said Nye, and I wrote 
about a column, headed, "About a Column," and cas- 
ually mentioned some of the things that might be put 

3 



4 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

into a column, and did not mention Doric, Ionic, Cor- 
inthian or Composite columns either. This being 
printed in Nye's newspaper, unsigned, promptly went 
abroad credited to Nye and in that w^as a whole lot of 
fun to me, whether or not it was humorous to others, 
for I thought that Nye was coming to the front rather 
too rapidly as a humorist and this would ''give him 
pause.'' 

He outlived and overcame it all, however, and there 
are those who will entertain perfect faith and trust 
that ''Opie Read in the Ozarks" will be able to find 
the way out and into perfect success despite this back- 
action introduction. 

William Lightfoot Visscher. 



Opie Read in the Ozarks 

Down in certain sections of Arkansas River bot- 
toms there is such an air of unconcern that the first 
thought of a traveler is : "These people are too lazy 
to entertain a hope." It is, however, not wholly a con- 
dition of laziness that produces such an appearance of 
indolence. Laziness may play its part, and, moreover, 
may play it well, but it cannot hope to assume the 
leading role. What, then, is the principal actor? 
Chills. There are men in those bottoms who were 
born with a chill and who have never shaken it off. 

Some time ago while riding through the Muscadine 
neighborhood, I came upon a man sitting on a log 
near the roadside. He was sallow and lean, with 
sharp knob cheek bones and with hair that looked like 
soiled cotton. The day was intensely hot, but he was 
sitting in the sun, although near him a tangled grape- 
vine cast a most inviting shade. 

* ^Good-morning," said I, reining up my horse. 

"Hi." 

"You live here, I suppose." 

"Jest about." 

"Why don't you sit over there in the shade?" 

"Will when the time comes." 

5 



6 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

''What do you mean by when the time comes?" 

*'When the fever comes on." 

''Having chills, are you?" 

"Sorter." 

"How long have you had them?" 

"Forty-odd year." 

"How old are you?" 

"Forty-odd year." 

"Been shaking all your life, eh?" 

"Only half my life; fever was on the other half." 

"Why don't you move away from here?" 

"Becaze I've lived here so long that I'm afeerd I 
might not have good health now^har else." 

"Gracious alive, do you mean to say that having 
chills all the time is good health?" 

"Wall, health mout be wuss. Old Nat Sarver 
moved up in the hills some time ago, was tuck down 
putty soon with some new sort of disease and didn't 
live more'n a week. Don't b'lieve in swappin' off 
suthin' that I'm used to fur suthin' I don't know 
nothin' about. Old-fashioned, every-day chills air 
good enough for me. Some folks, when they git a 
little up in the w^orld, mout want to put on airs with 
pendercitus, dyspepsia and bronkichus, and glanders 
and catarrh, but, as I 'lowed to my wife the other 
night, old chills and fever war high enough fur us 
yit awhile. A chill may have its drawbacks, but it has 
its enjoyments, too." 

"I don't see how anything about a chill can be en- 
joyable." 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 7 

''Jest owin' to how you air raised, as the kller says, 
When I have a chill it does me a power of good to 
stretch, and I tell you that a fust-rate stretch when a 
feller is in the humor ain't to be sneezed at. I'd leave 
watermilon most any time to have a good stretch. 




'Tve lived here so long that I'm afeerd I might not 
have good health nowhar else." 



High-o-hoo!" He gaped, threw out his legs, threw 
back his arms and stretched himself across the log. 
"ItVsorter like the itch," he went on. 'The itch has 
its drawbacks, but what a power of good it does a man 



8 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

to scratch! Had a uncle who cotch the itch in the 
army and he lay thar and scratched and smiled and 
scratched agin. In order to keep up with the demand 
of the occasion he sprinkled a lot of sand in his bed 
and tuck off all his clothes, so that every time he turned 
he'd be scratched all over. He kep' this up till the itch 
killed him, but he died a-scratchin' and a-smilin' and 
I reckon he was about as happy a dead man as ever 
lived. Wall, my fever is comin' on now and I reckon 
ril git up thar under the shade." 

He moved into the shade and stretched himself, 
again. 

''How long will your fever last?" I asked. 

*'Wall, I don't know exackly; three hours, mebby." 

^Then what?" 

*'Wall, ril funter around a while, chop up a little 
wood to git a bite to eat with, swap a boss with some 
feller, mebby, and then fix myself for another chill." 

*'Have you much of a family?" 

"Wife and grown son. He's about the ablest chiller 
* in the country ; w'y, when he's got a rale good chill 
on he can take hold of a tree and shake ofif green per- 
simmons. W'y, he wins all the money the niggers 
have got, shakin' dice. Wall, have you got to go?" 

"Yes." 

"Wait till my fever cools down a little, and I'll beat 
you outen that nag you're ridin'." 

"No, I don't care to walk." 

"Good-bye, then. When yon git tired livin' up thar 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. g 

among them new-fangled diseases, come down here 
whar everything is old-fashioned and honest/' 

A party of Arkansawyers were sitting about a cross- 
roads store one afternoon, when a lank fellow rode 
up, threw his bridle reins over a peg in the rack, dis- 
mounted with a jolt and greeted the company with a 
"hi air you, thar/' 

'Tutty well fur old folks," replied a fellow named 
Sam Stewart. 

'This here is the postofifice, hain't it?'' 

"That's the sort of a comical 'porium she is/' Sam 
replied. 

"Who is the postmarster ?' 

"Wall, suh, the postmarster is the man what you 
now have the honor of addressin'." 

"Glad to hear it. I moved in here from Missouri a 
few weeks ago, and want a letter that's here for me." 

^'What's yo' name?" 

"Dad Knox." 

"Wall, Dad Knox, thar ain't nothin' here fur you." 

"Air you right shore?" 

"I am so shore that I know thar ain't." 

"Wall, but see here ; just about the time I left Mis- 
souri, Ab. Boyle 'lowed that he would write to me in 
a few days, and I want you to understand that Ab. ain't 
no liar." 

"Didn't say he was a liar. Said thar wa'n't no 
letter here fur you and thar hain't, that's all thar is 
about it." 



10 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

''No, it's not quite all there is about it. Ab. was 
never known to tell a lie and he said he would write 
to me. How about that?" 

'That ain't nuthin' about it." 

"Yas, thar is somethin' about it." 

"Wall, what is thar?" 

"It's jest this : Thar's a letter in this office for me, 
an' I'm goin' to have it." 

"Look here, bones, if thar was fifty letters in here 
fur you, you couldn't git 'em lessen I said so." 

"You don't say so?" 

"That's exactly what I say." 

"Why, you don't know me, do you?" 

"No, and I ain't hurtin' atter yo' 'quaintance." 

"Wall, if it's any information, I will remark that 
I am the man that made Jesse James run once." 

"That's nuthin', so fur as personal 'complishment 
goes. These boys will tell you that I spit at a wild 
hog once and raised a three-cornered blister between 
his eyes." 

"You don't begin to say so! And atter all it is a 
putty good personal 'complishment. It's strange, 
though, that you never hearn of me. I grabbed a pan- 
ther once and tied a knot in his tail, and it took him 
three weeks of close attention to business to get it 
out." 

"You don't say so! But after all that was doin' 
putty well fur a man that simply wanted to throw away 
his time. I uster idle away my time that a-way. I 
ricolleck once that I was out in the Rocky Mountains 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 



II 




12 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

when who should come along but a grizzly bear that I 
wasn't acquainted with at all, but I spoke to him sor- 
ter polite like, and he ups with his paw and struck at 
me. I told him not to take such violent exercise just 
after dinner, but he frowned on my advice and struck 
at me agin. Then I got sorter riled, and I grabbed 
him, snatched out his tongue, split it, and tied the 
ends over the top of his head. Yes, I used to be a 
good deal of a idler." 

The point of this narrative is that no slim, gentle- 
manly fellow came up just at that moment and made 
the two boasting bullies eat dirt; neither did the post- 
master's wife appear and lead her lord away by the 
ear. There are, after all, a great many unconventional 
things in this world. 

''Have you any excuse?" asked the judge of a man 
who had been summoned on the jury. 

''Yes, sir, my wife is sick." 

''Not a legal excuse. We want a good jury for 
this case, a case of train-robbing. Any other excuse?" 

"Yes, sir, I have rheumatism." 

"Not a legal excuse." 

'T used to live in Missouri." 

"You did? Well, then, get out of here. We don't 
want you." 

A little, old, squint-eyed Guinea negro got on board 
a train at a lonely way-station in Arkansaw. He car- 
ried a number of bundles and appeared to have a lot 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 13 

of carpet-rags tied up in a blanket. He whirled a 
seat over, stuffed in his belongings and sat down. 
The conductor came along. The little old negro 



"Yes, sah, an' he had his arm restin' on a sort 0' shelf, 
an' a stomp wuz on de shelf wid its handle stickin' up like 
er cat's tail." 

looked up at him as if he had found an object of 
keenest interest. 

"Ticket.'' 

"Sah?" 



14 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

^Tour ticket." 

*'Yas, sah, yas," he said, beginning to feel in his 
waistcoat pockets, slowly, first in one and then in the 
other, and all the while keeping up his look of keen 
interest. *'Yas, sah, I bought dis yere ticket fur you. 
I says ter a man, I says, 'Who's on dat kyarh dat's com- 
in' yander?' an' he tole me, he did, an' I says, I says, 
Tm gwine git er ticket fur dat man sho nuff/ Yas, 
sah." 

"Are you going to give me the ticket?" 

"Who, me? Yas, sah," (continuing to search his 
pockets). "Dat's whut I gwine do, caze ez I tells you, 
I bought it fur you. Yas, sah. An' ez I stepped 
up on de platfawm Mr. Henderson wuz er standin' 
right dar" (pointing to the floor) "an' I says, 'Good 
mawnin', Mr. Henderson, good mawnin', sah.' W'y, 
I alius speaks ter Mr. Henderson. I'se knowed him 
— w'y, I uster split bo'ds fur him. Yas, sah. I says, 
I says, 'Good mawnin', Mr. Henderson,' an' he say, 
'Good mawnin', Mr. Henderson did, an' den I says, I 
says, 'Good mawnin', Mr. Henderson.' I wuz tellin' 
him good-bye den. Yas, sah. An' den I stepped 
roun' yere ter whar Mr. Wiley wuz er standin' in er 
sort o' cage. Mr. Wiley is de man w^hut sells de 
tickets, an' he doan kere who he sells 'em to, nuther, I 
tell you.. Yas, sah, an' he had his arm restin' on a 
sort o' shelf, an' a stomp wuz on de shelf wid its 
handle stickin' up like er cat's tail, an' I thought he 
wuz gwine take er ticket frum dis side w'en I said, 
'Mr. Wiley, I got ter hab er ticket fur dat man comin' 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 15 

on dat kyarh yander/ — Yas, sah, thought he gwine 
take de ticket frum dis side, but he tuck de ticket frum 
ober dar, an' he stuck it out on de shelf an' stomped 
it wid de cat's tail, an' yere it is. Uck, I come in one 
o' findin' it den. But ain't it funny how clost you kin 
come ter findin' er ticket an' den not find it?" 

*'Are you going to " 

"Yas, sah, dat's whut I'm doin'. I doan want de 
ticket. I ain't runnin' no railroad. But ef I wuz 
runnin' er railroad I'd 'want de ticket, huh ? Yas, 
sah. Ez I come er roun' yere by de cornder o' de 
house — water barrel up ergin' de cornder o' de house 
— didn't want ter run ergin de water barrel — Mr. 
Henderson wuz er standin' right dar, an' I says, I 
says, 'Good mawnin', Mr. Henderson,' and Mr. Hen- 
derson he say, *Good mawnin',' an' " 

''Confound Mr. Henderson!" exclaimed the con- 
ductor. 

*'I — I — I doan kere ef you confound him, sah. Do 
you know dat dat man's yaller dog bit me? Yas, 
he did, an' ef you wuz ter be bit by er dog whut sort 
o' dog you ruther be bit by, er black dog ur yaller 
dog, huh?" 

"Look here, I'm not going to keep fooling with 
you. Give me that ticket." 

"No, sah, you ain't gwine keep foolin' wid me. 
Wen I seed you comin' I says, I says, 'Yander comes 
er man dat ain't gwane keep foolin' wid me.' Yas, sah, 
yere's yo' ticket" (bringing up the lint from the bot- 
tom of his woolly pocket). "Uck, I thought I had it 



i6 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

den. \Mnit pocket you reckon I put it in, dis yere one 
ur dis yere one? But I knows I had it, fur I says, 
says I, *Mr. Wiley, I mus' hab er ticket fur dat man,' 
an' Mr. Wiley he tuck down er ticket an' stomped it 
wid de cat's tail an' — ain't it funny whut comes o' er 
man's ticket?" 

^Tm going through the train," said the conductor, 
"and when I come back I must have that ticket. Do 
you hear?" 

''Oh, yas, sah, I yeres, caze I ain't deaf. But ef 
I wuz deef I couldn't yere, could I? Yas, sah, I'll hab 
it fur you gin you gits back, caze I knows whar it is. 
Yas, sah." 

The conductor w^ent away and the little old negro 
sat looking out of the window whistling. Presently 
the conductor came back. 

''Did you find that ticket?" 

"Whut ticket?" (with a look of blank astonish- 
ment). "Oh, dat ticket" (beginning again to search 
his pockets). " 'Fo de Lawd, I didn't know at fust 
whut ticket de man meant. Yas, sah, I found it. Oh, 
I knowd whar it wuz, an' I says, I did, 'Yere's dat 
white man's ticket now.' An' yere's yo' ole ticket. 
Uck, I thought I had it den." (A look of surprise 
came over his face.) "Whut I do wid dat ticket? 
Anybody seed er ticket roun' yere?" (After a silence) 
— "Ez I come roun' by de platfawm Mr. Henderson 
wuz er standin' right dar an' I says " 

"Where are you going?" the conductor asked. 

"Sah?" 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 17 

^^You heard what I said. Where are you going?'' 

''Up yere ter Bolton, sah/' 

''Well, give me forty cents." 

"Would you ges' lieve hab de money?'' (with a 
look of delight). 

"Yes." 

"You ain't foolin' me, is you? But you wouldn't 
fool er ole nigger man, would you ? You shall hab de 
money. I alius has forty cents. Ever' time folks sees 
me gwine 'way frum home da say, 'Yander goes de 
man wid forty cents.' W'y, I flings forty cences. 
erway. Folks sees me gwine 'long swingin' my han' 
dis way an' da think I'se sowin' oats. I ain't; I'se 
throwin' forty cences erway. Ain't it funny whut 
will come o' er man's money?" (Grabbling in his 
pockets. ) "Uck, I come in one o' gittin' it den. But 
ain't it funny how clost er man will come te gittin' 
money an' den not git it ? Uck, I come in one o' git- 
tin' it den." (After a silent fumbling) — "Mr. Wiley 
wuz standin' in de cage an' he stomped de ticket wid 
de cat's tail, an' " 

"I'll put you off," said the conductor, as he reached 
up and pulled the bell-rope. The train stopped. The 
old man gathered up his bags and his bundles, and as 
he backed out of the door he said : 

"I'se 'bleeged ter you, sah; I'se much er 'bleeged 
ter you. But I dun out-talked you. I live in dat cabin 
up yander an' yere is whar I wuz gwine git off any- 
how." 



i8 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 



A story illustrating a somewhat original excuse, 
is told on a Hebrew clothing merchant of Little Rock. 
A man went in to buy a bonnet for his wife. The 
merchant treated him with great politeness, and as 




"My friendt, I voud do it in a minute, but I voud have 
to scratch my books and den I voud lose mine insurance/' 

he had no bonnets, induced him to buy an overcoat. 
The next day the man returned and said : "Look here, 
I can't keep this coat." 

"Why?" the astonished merchant asked. 

"Well, because my wife says that I did wrong in 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 19 

buying it and swears that you must take it back and 
give me my money/' 

"My friendt," said the merchant, ''I voud do it 
in a minute^ but I voud have to scratch my books 
and den I voud lose mine insurance." 

The forced customer wore the coat about three 
weeks and then it dropped ofif. 

William P. Hester had written three poems, one 
on "The Depth of True Love'' and two on "The Rose" 
and "The Lily," respectively, when he married a widow 
Hoss. He had fondly looked forward to a literary 
career, but the appearance of the widow as she came 
into church one Sunday, dressed in a new yellow 
calico gown, snatched his attention and held it in a 
tight clutch. The very next day he put his pen on the 
mantel piece and devoted himself to yearning love. 
Mrs. Hester had a small farm comparatively free from 
mortgage and a new wagon with thimble-skein axles. 
Had the poet previously felt any doubt as to the en- 
during quality of his love, the sight of that wagon as 
it stood under the shed with a dominecker rooster 
parading up and down the seat, would have settled it. 

Well, shortly after they were married, the poet, as all 
true men of letters do, began to grow tired of wedded 
life. He spoke to his wife about "this here matri- 
monial yoke," but she replied that he was such a steer 
that he needed a yoke. He went off down in the woods 
and then mused. "I have made a mistake," said he, 
"but what poet did not ; and what is the great mistake 



20 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

that nearly all poets have made? Marriage. The 
most widely recognized quality of poetic genius is the 
inability to stand the marriage depression. To sub- 
mit quietly is an acknowledgment of inferiority, at 
least the w^orld will so regard it. The world believes 
that genius must buck up against incompatibility. 
Now, if I should have trouble with my W'ife, the world 
will say, 'Ah, he is a true poet,' and then I shall re- 
ceive orders from magazines and then — fame. I 
must move at once in this matter. The 'truth is, I 
could get along with my wife, for after all she is a 
gentle creature, but I was born a poet and nature must 
take her sweet course.'' 

He strolled on back toward the house. It was the 
gentle spring time, and his wife burning beef bones 
that she had gathered up in the yard. 'T must have 
some little excuse for my tirade," he said to himself. 
When he approached she turned to him and squinted, 
for her eyes were full of smoke. 

"Are you offering up sweet incense to the gods?" 
he asked. 

''No, I'm burnin' these here beef bones, an' ef you 
kin find anything sweet in thar smell, w'y yo' nose 
has got suthin' the matter with it, that's all." 

"Woman," he slowly began, 'T see that you are no 
lover of a touch divine. You are too coarse and low 
for me, the poet. I must therefore banish you." 

"You must do what?" she asked, wiping the smoke 
from her eyes with the corner of her apron. 

"I must banish you from my realm of poesy. Go." 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 



21 



^'I don't exactly know what you mean/' she an- 
swered, ''but I don't 'low to take no chances," and 
with that she snatched up a wash-board and split it 
over his head. As he was hastening down the lane, a 




**I don't exactly know what you mean, but I don't 'low 
to take no chances." 

few moments later, one of the neighbors whom he 
met asked: ''Which way, Hester?" but he made no 
reply. He went to the editor of the county paper, to 
tell him a sad story of the domestic infelicities of 
genius. "It is here that my fame is to begin," he 



22 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

mused as he ascended the stairs. He told the editor, 
and the next issue of the Dumpsy County Broad Axe 
contained the following: 

**Bill Hester, the fool that thinks that he can write, 
has had trouble with his wife. He thought that he 
could hector her but he slipped up on himself. He 
did not know that woman. Some time before she 
married old Hoss she was our wife. We married her 
after she had got through with a poor old fool named 
Collier. We gave her our young love, and at first 
she appeared to love us, but we don't believe she did ; 
at least when she knocked us down and stamped us, 
we came to the conclusion that our opinion ^had been 
rashly formed." 

The woman sent the following message to Hester : 

*'It is time the craps was bein' put in, an' ef you don't 
come back here an' go to work I will come atter you 
an' w'ar you out with a bull whip that I have used 
with great success on fo' men." 

A man, while riding along the county road, saw 
Hester plowing. *'Bill," said the man, *'you seem to 
be in a hurry." 

"Yes. Me and my wife agreed that the crops ought 
to be got in as soon as possible." 

''I do not see any peculiarity about your people," 
said an Eastern judge, addressing his traveling com- 
panion, a well-known Arkansas lawyer. "I have trav- 
eled quite extensively in this state, and I have not as 
yet, found that eccentricity of action and prevarication 
of reply that has often amused me in the newspapers." 



. OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 23 

**You have done most of your traveling* by rail/' 
the lawyer replied. "This is your first trip away from 
the main road, is it not ?'' 

''Yes/' 

''Well, ril show you some of our genuine natives. 
Yonder is a house. Call the landlord, and converse 
with him.'' 

"Hallo!" called the judge. 

"Comin' !" the man replied, depositing a child in the 
doorway, and advancing. 

"How's all the folks?" 

"Children's hearty; wife's not well. Ain't what you 
might call bed-sick, but jest sorter stretchy." 

"Got anything to eat in the house?" 

"Ef I had it anywhere, I'd have it in the house." 

"How many children have you ?" 

"Many as I want." 

"How many did you want?" 

"Wa'n't hankerin' arter a powerful chance, but I'm 
satisfied." 

"How long have you been living here ?" 

"Too long." 

"How many years?" 

"Been here ever since my oldest boy was born." 

"What year was he born?" 

"The year I come here." 

"How old is your boy?" 

"Ef he had lived, he would have been the oldest 
until yit; but, as he died, Jim's the oldest." 

"How old is Jim?" 



24 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

''He ain't as old as the one what died." 

''Well, how old was the one that died?'' 

"He was older than Jim." 

"What do you do here for a living?" 

"Eat." 




"How far is it to the next house?" 
"It's called three miles, but the man what calls it that is 
a liar." 



'How do you get anything to eat?" 

'The best way we kin." 

'How do you spend your Sundays?" 

'Like the week days." 

'How do you spend them?" 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 25 

''Like Sundays." 

'Is that your daughter, yonder?'' 

"No, sir ; she ain't my daughter yonder, nor nowhar 
else." 

"Is she a relative of yours?" 

"No, sir; no kin." 

"Kin to your wife, I suppose." 

"No kin to my wife, but she's- kin to my children." 

"How do you make that out?" 

"She's my wife." 

"How far is it to the next house?" 

"It's called three miles, but the man what calls it 
that is a liar." 

"I've got enough," said the Judge, turning to the 
lawyer. "Drive on. I pity the man who depends on 
this man for information." 

A negro woman in Arkansas borrowed a dozen eggs 
from a neighbor, and instead of returning a dozen, 
brought back only eleven. 

"How's dis?" the lender asked. 

"How's whut, lady?" 

"W'y you borrid er dozen aigs frum me but dar 
ain't but erleben yere. How does you 'count fur dat?" 

"I 'counts fur it mighty easy. Dem aigs I got frum 
you wa'n't right full." 

"Wa'n't right full! Whut you means by dat?" 

"I means dat da wa'n't full — dat de hens whut laid 
'em wa'n't right honest. Deze aigs dat I have fotch 
you is full up ter de brim ; an' yo' kain't 'spect me ter 



26 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

fetch you er dozen full aigs fur er dozen dat wa'n't 
right full. Oh, Fs squar', I is.'' 

A fanciful fellow who once passed through the 
neighborhood said that the spirit of poesy in Arkan- 
saw, after a wild, dangerous and troublous flight among 
the mountains, had stolen into Honeycutt county to 
take a nap. Through this county ran a small river 
and, at its purest, it was as clear as the drop of honey 
in a poplar bloom ; and up and down the stream were 
bluffs fringed with vines and bejeweled here and there 
with larkspur. 

Contemptuous people called this neighborhood the 
"pennyrile district.'' The soil was not rich and the 
people were poor, but they were happy; for there was 
naught to stimulate them to an unhealthful ambition. 
They heard none of the boasts that progress makes. 
They were out of the world and knew not that the 
real world existed. 

Josh Tabb, the poet, lived in Honeycutt. He was 
not a poet by education, but by instinct. His intel- 
lectual training had been nipped off shortly after it 
had been begun, but his spirit did not die at the sight 
of his withered education. He sang the song of en- 
vironment, and wrote the ^'for sale" notices of ''in- 
tramural commerce." The notices were sprawled in 
rhyme, and the door of the blacksmith shop was often 
ablaze with inspired scraps announcing the fact that 
some one was willing to part with a bull-tongue plow. 
I think that his happiest effort was the following": 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 27 

''John Edwards has two calves for sale, 

The offspring of a cow that gives milk by the pail — 

They are a mighty smooth bargain, yea, slicker than 

grease. 
For he'll sell these here calves at three dollars apiece." 

Josh was a tall, powerful fellow, and women smiled 
upon him, and, being a gallant man and a poet, he 
smiled in return; but he gave them no fraction of his 
heart. An old man once upbraided him for his nig- 
gardliness, and the poet thus replied: 

''When nature comes along and says, 'Josh, love 
this here woman!' Til say, 'All right, ma'am!' and 
right there I'll love her, but not before. I don't want 
any half measures ; I must meet a woman that fills my 
cup, and when I do meet her, I'll give her a love that 
will make the moon blush and the stars blink. Oh, 
I've got a love that stands ready to snort and plunge 
like a tormented steer." 

"Joshie," said the old man, "if it want fur some of 
the 'fur sale' notices you've writ, I'd have to put you 
down as not havin' sense enough to skin a squirr'l. 
I'm a putty old man and I've seed mighty nigh all the 
\vorld that's worth seein' — I've been to Fort Smith and 
I went on a raft nearly to Little Rock once; and I've 
been married three times, and I want to say that if you 
are waitin' for love to jolt you like bein' hit with a 
maul, why, you might as well give up right now. Take 
my advice, Joshie, and marry some chunk of a gal, and 
settle down. My experience tells me that women air 
putty much the same. One may have a few more 



28 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 



whims than another, but they've all got 'em. There 
are half a dozen gals around here, ary one o' which 
would make you a good wife, an' you'd better take one 
of 'em ruther than to wait for a love that will make 
the stars blink and all that sort of thing." 




''My experience tells me that women air putty much the 
same. One may have a few more whims than another, 
but they've all got 'em." 

''You are a pretty wise man, Uncle John," the poet 
rejoined, "but there are some things in this life that 
you don't know\ You are built accordin' to one plan, 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 29 

and Fm put up by another sort of measurement. Vm 
a poet. Nature has made you quick at figures, but 
she has given me the power to feel What might be 
agreeable to you would be a grain of sand in my eye. 
And now don't you worry about my not marryin'. My 
time will come after a while. Somebody may come 
along that will not only fill my cup, but run it over.'' 

"That mout all be true, Joshie; that mout all be a 
leetle mo' than true, if possible; but it is better to have 
yo' cup not quite full than to have \t sloshed over, 
fur thar ain't nothin' that's much worse than waste. 
An' now here : Suppose a woman do fill yo' cup, an' 
then turn away from it. In other words, suppose she 
won't have you after the stars have done blunk?" 

'Til have to look out for that, I reckon, Uncle John ; 
we all have to take our chances as we go along. But 
even when I was a boy something kept on tellin' me 
that I would one day be set on fire by a great love. And 
then I won't write a notice of a calf for sale and stick 
it upon a door ; I will write something that will wring 
tears out of the souls of men. Oh, I know that some 
folks have a sort of contempt for me because I am a 
poet, but they can't call me lazy, and they can't say 
th?t I have ever flinched in the presence of danger." 

"That's all true enough," the old man said, "but 
bein' true don't take away none of the bother of it. I 
am might'ly interested in you, or I wouldn't have 
talked to you in this way. I have watched you grow 
up from a boy, and, although you ain't no blood kin 
to me, I feel that I have a claim on you. You air too 



30 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

good a man to waste your life in honin' and hankerin' 
for somethin' that in reason can't come to you. Well, 
I must be movin'/' the fellow added. They had met 
in the road that overlooked the river. ''Good-bye, 
Joshie, an' think over what I've said." 

''All right, Uncle John, and at the same time you'd 
better think over what I've said." 

The old man walked a short distance and then, halt- 
ing, turned and gazed at the young fellow as he stode 
along the blufif. The sun was going down and the old 
man shaded his eyes from the dazzling searchlight 
thrown from the river. 

The young man loitered aimlessly, and then rolled 
a stone from the brow of the cliff. 

A great excitement was spread throughout Honey- 
cutt county; A circus was coming, and glaring bills 
were on the blacksmith shop, rudely posted over the 
barter Iliads of Josh Tabb, the poet. It was the first 
circus that had ever declared its intention to come 
into this dozing neighborhood, and it was hard to be- 
lieve that the posters were not evidences of a cruel 
flirtation rather than a promise that should be ful- 
filled. Old Uncle John did not believe that there was 
an elephant ; and as for a camel, why, the entire breed 
passed away when Jerusalem fell. But the circus 
came, and with it were an elephant and a camel. The 
elephant was badly worn, and bore the appearance of 
having been patched here and there with a quality of 
leather somewhat inferior to the original material; 
and a more dejected looking creature than the camel 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 



31 



Z73^irlMn liill^ 




"I gad, Joshie, ef I could cut that caper thar ain't no 
power that could keq) me outen the Legislatur. Look 
thar, will you?" 



32 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

could not have existed. It was blind of an eye, and its 
hair appeared to have been singed off in places. The 
entire outfit consisted of three wagons, a few pack 
mules and a half dozen actors. But it was a great day 
for Honeycutt county, and when the performance be- 
gan, Uncle John and the poet sat near the ring. A 
bareback rider threw a backward somersault through 
a hoop and Uncle John, whispering to Josh, said : 

"I'd come mighty nigh bettin' a steer that he can't do 
that agin.'' 

And just then the rider did it again, and Uncle John 
again whispered: 

''Did you see that? I-gad, Joshie, ef I could cut 
that caper thar ain't no power that could keep me 
outen the Legislatur. Look thar, will you?" 

A gauzed, pinked and bespangled young woman 
had taken her place on a broad pad, and was gallop- 
ing around the ring. The old man nudged Josh, but 
the poet heeded him not. The young woman shouted 
at her slow horse. Uncle John nudged the poet, and 
Josh turned w^ith a look that startled the old man. 

''Why, what's the matter, Josh?" 

'The stars will blink," the poet hoarsely whispered. 

The performance came to an end. The people, stu- 
pid with so sudden a hurl back to the "prosaics" of 
life, looked at one another and began to move away. 

"Come on, Joshie," said Uncle John. 

'T can't come. I must see her." 

"But they won't let you see her. Come on." 

"I will see her." 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 33 

''Get out, all that haven't got tickets for the con- 
cert/' a man shouted ; and Uncle John got out. but the 
poet remained. 

At the night performance Uncle John found the 
poet near the ring, and sat down beside him. 

"Did you git to see her?" the old man asked. 

''No, they wouldn't let me, but my time will come.'' 

"But, Joshie, do you really think she's as putty as 
Sue Morris?" 

"She's as far ahead of Sue as a hummin' bird is of 
a grasshopper." 

"Wall, I can't hardly agree with you, Joshie. This 
here gal is putty an' all that, but you put the same sort 
of rig on Sue Morris, an' she'd look powerful peart, 
I tell you. I like the w^omen folks an' all that, but the 
feller that flops through that hoop ketches me." 

The performance was over, and rough men were 
pulling down the tent. The poet stood in the shifting 
light of a spluttering torch, sadly gazing at the work 
of destruction. Uncle John approached him, touched 
him on the shoulder and asked : 

"Are you goin' now, Joshie?" 

"No." 

"How long befo' you will be ready?" 

"I'm goin' to talk to her." 

"Josh, don't be foolish. Come on." 

The young man turned upon him with a look of con- 
tempt. 

"It is the smallness of your soul that calls the deptli 
of my soul foolish. You have lived many years, but 



34 OPIB READ IN THE OZARKS. 

I am livin' longer every minit now than five lives as 
long as yours. Uncle John, IVe got no kinfolks to 
speak of, and I think mo' of you than I do of any man, 
but you mustn't talk to me like that." 

'Tm sorry I done it, Joshie, an' I won't do it agin ; 
but don't you think you'd better come on now? I'm 
afeerd that you mout get into some sort of a fight with 
these here folks. See, they've got the whole -thing 
loaded an' air about ready to drive off. Come on." 

"No." 

"Wall, but what air you goin' to do?" 

"Follow her — marry her." 

"Nonsense, man." 

"You said you wouldn't talk that way agin." 

"I ain't talkin' that way, Joshie; ain't talkin' that 
way no sich thing. But you can't marry her. See, they 
are drivin' off. Come on." 

The torch had been taken away, and they were now 
standing in the dark. 

"Good-bye, Uncle John." 

"What ! you ain't a-goin' sho' nuff ?" 

"Good-bye, Uncle John." 

"Wait a minit, Josh. But say, when may we ^spect 
you back?'^ 

"I will never come back until she comes with me." 

The poet trudged along the road. A heavy rain was. 
falling, but he heeded it not. When daylight came, 
the "caravan" halted to prepare for a parade in the 
presence of the people of Hickory Flat. 

"What are you doin' here?" a rough man asked. 



dPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 35 

"Attendin' to my own afifairs," the poet answered. 

"But weVe got all the men we want, and don't need 
you." 

*'I haven't asked you if you needed me/' 

''Well, that's all right, but you had better go about 
your business." 

''You can't keep a man from goin' along the public 
road, can you?" 

"No, but we can keep you from goin' in this show." 

"Not if I pay my way." 

The days passed, and still the poet followed the cir- 
cus. The desolate camel appeared to have taken a 
liking to him, and for hours they would walk side by 
side. 

One afternoon, in a moment of boldness, he spoke 
to the girl. She smiled upon him, and that night while 
plodding along, he talked to the desolate camel. One 
day the girl came to him and said : 

The manager says that you must go away — says 
he has told you so two or three times." 

"I will go away when you go with me." 

She laughed. "I can't go with you." 

"But you must. I told Uncle John that I would 
never return to Honeycutt county without you, an' 
I won't. Listen to me. I am a poet an' I love you. 
Wait. I am the only man that can love. Other men 
have loved, but they are all dead. Will you go back 
with me?" 

The woman's voice was soft with a new and pecu- 
liar kindness when she answered him. "Oh, you 



36 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

mustn't say that," she said. ''You must go on back 
and not think about me. I couldn't marry you. We 
would be so far apart in everything." 

*'0h, I know you are a heap becter than me," he 
rejoined. 

''I could almost love you for saying that," she de- 
clared; and then impulsively she continued: ''Better 
than you? Why, Tm not half so good. I am simply 
a friendless woman who is trying to make her own way, 
and a poor enough way it is. But won't you please go 
on back? The manager says he doesn't want any 
trouble with you, but that you must stop following the 
show." 

"If he don't want any trouble with me, he'd better 
let me alone." 

"But won't you go back?" 

"Not till you go with me.*' 

"But that is impossible." 

"Listen to me," he said, in a voice hardened with 
the tone of command. "I believe that it is the will of 
God that you shall go home with me. It may seem 
impossible now, but before long it may be perfectly 
clear. There is a disposition in this here world to 
tread on the lowly poets, but let me tell you that they 
are the true apostles of the Lord. Will you go back 
with me now ?" 

"You are simply a foolish boy. No, I can't go with 
you." 

"Wait a moment," he cried, but the woman ran 
away. 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 



37 



The show had wound its way among the thin set- 
tlements of southwest Missouri, had turned about and 
was now within twelve miles of the Honeycutt bluffs. 
The ^^grand aggregation" had put up its canvas near 




"Stand back or I'll kill the last one of you. She is mine 
now — she's goin' home with me." 

Walnut Hill. The afternoon's performance was soon 
to begin. The girl stood just within the doorway of 
the "dressing room." The poet spoke to her. 
"It's just twelve miles to where I live," he said. 



38 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

'Then it won't take you long to get home," she re- 
plied, smiling at him. 

''It might as well be ten thousand miles unless you 
agree to go with me." 

"Well, then, ten thousand be it. I have been very 
patient with you, but Fm getting tired now. They 
have begim to laugh at me, and I can't stand that." 

Just then she was summoned, and she tripped away 
to gallop around the ring. The poet took his accus- 
tomed place and sat gazing at her. Rain was falling 
and the tent was leaking. The horse stepped into a 
puddle and slipped just as the girl was about to jump 
over a banner. She shrieked and fell — her head struck 
and she lay there. In a second the poet was bending 
over her. A number of showmen rushed forward. 

''Back," shouted the poet, springing up with a pistol 
in his hand. "Stand back or I'll kill the last one of 
you. She is mine now — she's goin' home with me." 

^ * * >!c H^ 

The sun was sinking and Uncle John was strolling 
along the blufifs. He heard the rattle of a wagon, and, 
looking up, he saw some one slowly driving toward 
him. 

"Why, if here ain't Joshie!" he cried. "What air 
you doin' with this here wagon, an' whar is ther gal 
that was comin' back with you? I'll climb in and ride 
with you. But whar's the gal, Joshie?" 

The poet caught the old man's arm and, pointing 
said : "In the coffin." 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 39 

The first prisoner that "graced'' the new jail at Oak 
Knob, the county seat of Patterson county, Arkansaw, 
was a young fellow named Dave Chillew. He was a 
stranger in this romantic community, which went far 
toward proving that he had stolen the horse. It was 
a fact that a roan mare was stolen and that circum- 
stances pointed with a steady finger at the stranger. 
This being quite sufficient, he was put in jail. 

Oak Knob could hardly be classed as a village ; in- 
deed it scarcely held the dignity of a cross-road point 
of importance. Its buildings consisted of a courthouse, 
which also served as a church ; a general supply store, 
a few ''residences," and the jail, a strong log pen with 
an iron-grated door. 

Lige Morgan, sheriff and jailer, lived within a few 
rods of the jail. 

Net Morgan, the old man's daughter, returned from 
school, in an adjoining neighborhood, one evening, 
and was told that a prisoner had at last been secured 
for the jail and that it was her duty to feed him. At 
this appointment to high and important trust the girl 
jumped up and clapped her hands. 

"Oh, that's finer' she cried. 

"Glad you like it," said the old man, "for I don't 
want nothin' to do with a hoss-thief, and yo' mother 
'lows she wouldn't feed one to save his life." 

"I don't like a hoss-thief better than you and mother 
do," she quickly replied, coloring and dropping her 
hands with a limpness that marked the sickness, if not 
the death, of her enthusiasm. "I never did have any 



40 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

use for a thief of no sort, much less a hoss-thief , and if 
I have to take care of him just because you think I Hke 
him better than the rest of you do, why, I won't have 
anything to do with him." 

''Come, now. Net, I don't want any of your fooHsh- 
ness. Of course you don't Hke a hoss-thief any better 
than the rest of us does, but I want you to take charge 
of him and feed him until after cou't meets and tries 
him. If you don't I'll hire Nan Stokes " 

''I'll feed him, pap. What sort of a lookin' man is 
he?" 

"Looks well enough. It's the way he acts that got 
him into trouble." 

"Believe I'll go out there and see who he's like." 

"You can't see out there now. It's too dark." 

"I can take a light. If he's my prisoner I must do 
as I please about him." 

She took down a spluttering tallow candle and went 
out to the jail. 

"Hello, in there," she said, holding up the candle 
high above her head and attempting to shake the grated 
door. 

There was a rustling of straw and then a voice an- 
swered, 

"Well." 

"Come up here so I can see you," said the girl. 

He came to the door. "I can't see you very well 
now," she remarked, trying to throw more light on 
him and pressing her face against the bars. "I never 
saw a live hoss-thief, and I want to see what you look 
like.*' 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 41 




"I never saw a live hossthief, and I want to see what 
you look like." 



42 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

'Tm not a horse-thief, miss or madam, I don't know 
which." 

''Miss, if you please. I ain't but fifteen years old, 
and I don't reckon you see many madams as young 
as that. I can't see whether you stole that hoss or 
not." 

He laughed witW a loud haw-haw, and then said, 
'Just like a woman." 

''Of course, for I am a woman, or the making of 
one, anyhow. Well, I'll have to wait until to-morrow 
before I can settle yo' case. Oh, I almost forgot to tell 
you that I am your keeper, and you can't have anything 
to eat except what I am a mind to give you." 

"I hope, then, that your mind is liberal, miss." 

"I don't know about that; I'll have to wait until I 
get a good look at you." 

"Just like a woman again," he said. 

"I'm just like a woman all the time,'' she replied. 

"And I never before had cause to wish for good 
looks," he rejoined. 

She went away without saying another word and 
the prisoner went back and lay down on his straw bed. 

Sunbeams were falling through the bars when he 
awoke the next morning, and an old rooster and sev- 
eral hens stood pecking at the doorsill. 

The chickens moved hastily away and then the girl 
stood there looking at him. 

"Good mornin'." 

"Good morning, miss," He went to the door and 
smiled at her. 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 43 

*'Your mouth ain't so pretty that you need to smile/' 
she said, and then, after studying him closely, added, 
''I don't know whether you stole that hoss or not. 
When I look at you this way [moving to the left] I 
think you did, but when I stand here [moving to the 
right] I don't believe you did." 

''Well, then," he replied, pointing to the right, 
''you'd better feed me from that side." 

"Oh, you are just like a man," she laughed, "but 
I'm just like a woman; I'm afraid that I'll have to 
look at you from the worst side." 

"If I were a woman I know you would, but as I 
am not, I thought that you would seek to see me at my 
best." 

"Now, Mr. Smarty, just for that I'll not give you 
much of a breakfast;" and she didn't either; but she 
made up for it at noontime. 

"I have brought my sewing," she said, "and am go- 
ing to sit out here in the shade and talk to you. This 
is the first time I ever had a man where I could talk to 
him as long as I wanted to." 

He looked at her with a pleased expression, and she 
sat down and began to sew. 

"Where are you from?" she asked, looking up. 

"Oh, from almost everywhere." 

"How long have you been in this country?" 

"Only a few days — hadn't been here but a short time 
until I was arrested." 

"That was too bad — that is, if you are innocent." 

"And I am, miss — what is your name?" 



44 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

"Net." 

''And I am innocent, Miss Net." 

"I don't know, but I reckon court will settle that 
point when it meets." 

''Yes, but Tm afraid it will not be settled in the right 
way." 

"I don't know about that, but I know it will be 
settled." 

"I hope it will soon be settled one way or the other, 
for I don't like the idea of staying very long in this 
pen." 

"Yes, but when it is settled you ma} go to a worse 
one." 

"That's consoling, surely; but do you really think 
they will send me to the penitentiary?" 

"What a funny question to ask one! How do I 
know? But, say, tell me how they come to accuse 
you." 

"Oh, they found me walking along the road and 
took me up. I had no horse." 

"But Zeb Brown says that you passed his house 
ridin' one, and if that's the case, what did you do with 
him?" 

"I did not pass his house riding a horse." 

"But he will swear you did, and will give it as his 
opinion that you was afraid of bein' caught and sold 
the horse to somebody." 

"Get up here, little girl, and look at me — look into 
my eyes." 

She got up and after gazing into his eyes, said, "No, 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 45 

you didn't steal a horse. You couldn't do such a thing, 
and I will believe you no matter who swears against 
you." 

''I could kiss you for those generous words.'' 

"No, you couldn't, for I wouldn't let you. I wouldn't 
want a man to come kissing me for my words, anyway. 
If he couldn't kiss me for myself he shouldn't kiss me 
at all." 

"You can safely talk of kissing to a man in jail. 
How long before court meets ?" 

"About a week." 

"As I am the only man to be tried, I suppose they 
will get through with me in short order." 

"I reckon so; and I do hope they won't send you to 
the penitentiary, for now that I know that you didn't 
steal that horse I like you ever so much." 

"And I like you," he said. 

"Oh, of course," she laughed, "for a man always 
likes anybody that feeds him. But I like you sho' nufif. 
I think yo' eyes are just lovely." 

"You make me blush, little miss ; and wouldn't that 
be a novel sight — a blushing jail-bird?" 
'^he fed him on chicken and hot biscuits, and at 
evening sang to him. She declared that he was her 
first and only beau. "But," she always added, "I would 
hate you if I thought you stole a horse." 

One morning she brought him more than the usual 
amount of food, and when he marveled at the abun- 
dance she said : 

"This must do you a day." 



46 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

"Why so?'' 

''Because I am going away and won't be back until 
late this evenin'." 

The clay was a weary one to the prisoner and he 
longed for evening. The sun went down, the stars 
came out. A dog whined, and then a cheerful voice 
said: 

'T'm back again." 

''Yes," he cried, "and just in time to give a soft 
touch to the hardest day I ever spent." 

"Oh, what a flatterer you are! but you didn't steal 
the horse, did you?" 

"No, little girl, I'll swear I didn't." 

"I know you didn't — I know you couldn't. I've 
got news for you." 

"What is it?" 

"Court meets to-morrow." 

"I'm glad, and yet I'm afraid." 

"You must not let them see that you are scared. 
I'll sit by you durin' the trial." 

She did sit beside him the next day, and when the 
judge, after hearing the verdict, sentenced him to the 
penitentiary for five years, she hung her head and 
wept. 

It was evening and the prisoner was taken back to 
his cell. A dark night came on, and the wretched man, 
knowing that on the morrow he should be taken away, 
lay on his straw bed, wishing that he might die. Hours 
passed. He was deserted. The dog whined. 

"Keep quiet, Bose," some one whispered, and the 
girl said, softly: 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 47 

''You thought I had forgot you/' 
Yes." 

''But I didn't. I wanted the key and had to wait till 
pap went to sleep. They had a feller to guard you, 
but I got him drunk. Pop's drunk, too," she giggled. 

"What are you going to do?" the prisoner asked, al- 
most breathlessly. 

"I'm goin' to let you out, but you must do exactly 
as I tell you and not say a word. If you try to run 
away they will catch you to-morrow, but if you fol- 
low my plan they never will find you. Come on, now." 

She had unlocked the door. "Come 'round this w^ay 
and don't say a word. There's old Bose dog, but he 
don't amount to anything. If he had, I'd have got 
him drunk, too. This way, now." 

They went into the woods, where the timber and 
underbrush were so thick that they had to pick their 
way along. 

"Let's stop here and rest a minute," she said. 

"Are we far enough away?" 

"Yes, and they can't find us anyway when they're 
drunk." She giggled again. 

"Little woman, you are an angel." 

"No, simply a girl that don't want to see an inno- 
cent man go to the penitentiary." 

"God bless you!" he said. 

"And may God bless you!" she replied, "and bless 
you, and bless you and keep on a-blessin' you till you 
are safe from the folks about here." 

"But what will they do with you, Httle girl?" 



48 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

'They won't do anything to me. Pap will scold 
and rear and pitch, but that will be all/' 

''But won't the officers of the law put you in jail?" 

"It wouldn't be good for one of them if he was to 
try it. Mother says I'm awful when I get started, and 
sometimes I reckon I am. We'd better go on now." 

''All right, but don't you think you'd better go 
back?" 

"If I was to leave you now you'd wander about in 
the woods till they find you." 

"What time do you suppose it is?" he asked. 

"About three o'clock." 

"And where will we be if we keep on going?" 

"We'll get to the river about daylight." 

"And then what?" 

"I will show you." 

Sometimes coming upon a place less dense, they 
walked briskly, and then, entering the thick under- 
brush, they were compelled to pick their way along. 

"It's growing lighter," he said. 

"Yes," she answered, "and the river isn't very far 
now." 

They trudged on, catching here and there faint 
glimpses of the coming sunrise. 

"Here we are at the river," she cried. 

"And now what ?" he asked. 

She took hold of his hand and, as she led him down 
a bank, said : 

"We'll have to go up stream some ways, but not 
very far, as I wasn't much wrong. I knew these woods 
even in the dark." 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 



49 




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50 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

'1 don't understand you." 

''See!" she pointed to a boat. ''You know I was gone 
a long time the other day. Well, I brought that boat 
over here, me and an old negro woman." 

He uttered an exclamation of surprise, and she gig- 
gled. 

Still holding his hand, she led him to the boat. 

"Row to the other side and float down under the 
willows," she said. 

He stepped in the boat, still holding her hand. 

"I must say good-bye," he said. 

"Good-bye," she whispered, still holding his hand 
and looking back toward her home. A short silence 
followed. 

"Net," he said, "I cannot leave you this way — I can- 
not deceive you. I did steal that horse." 

"Oh!" she sobbed, and threw her arms about his 
neck. 

"Don't, angel, I tell you that I stole the horse." 

"I am going with you," she said, and the boat 
floated out on the current of the sun-blazing stream. 

A traveler in Missouri noticing a large number of 
people following a wagon, rode up to an old fellow who 
sat on a fence and asked the cause of such a large pro- 
cession. 

"W'y, they air takin' Sam Bates out ter the grave- 
yard." 

"He must have been a very popular man." 

"Wall, I should reckon he was." 

"Held a high position, I suppose." 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 51 

''Stood at the top/' 

'*What was his business?" 

"Chopped co'd wood fur a living I b'lieve." 

"What, do people in this country pay so much at- 
tention to wood-choppers?'' 

"Look yare, my friend, Sam wuz the handiest man 
with a fiddle thar wuz in this neighborhood. He could 
jest natchully make a fiddle cluck like a hen. I don't 
know how it is whar you come frum but in this here 
community we don't pay no attention ter whut er man 
does fur er livin', but we measure him fur whut he is 
wuth ter society." 

A banker, while talking to one of his clerks, said : 
"Arthur, a man never amounts to much in this life 
until he gets married." 

"I think so myself, sir," the young man replied. 

"Glad you are so ready to agree with me, Arthur, 
for I have taken quite a liking to you. How old are 
you?" 

"Twenty-one, sir." 

"Plenty old to marry, Arthur; and I would advise 
you to begin looking around." 

"I have been looking around and I have found a 
young lady, and she has promised to be my wife." 

"Good. I hope she is worthy of you." 

"I think she is, sir." 

"Glad you think so. Who is she, Arthur?" 

"Your daughter, sir." 

The young fellow does not work at the bank now. 



52 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

Mr. George Lansing, brother of Lord Glencove, 
came to America some time ago with a party of cap- 
itahsts, and joined in an enterprise to purchase large 
tracts of pine lands in Arkansaw. Mr. Lansing, be- 
fore he met any of the squatters, wrote many amusing 
letters home concerning them, for, being an EngHsh- 
man, he fancied that he knew much of these people, and 
did not think that personal contact with them would ex- 
tend the already broad territory of his views. He 
wrote a number of dialogues, in which he always 
"wound the squatter up," but he is wiser now. 

Several days ago he set out on an expedition to visit 
a tract of land lying among the hills in a part of the 
country which had not been viewed by the members of 
the company. It was suggested that Mr. Lansing 
should be accompanied by some one who knew the 
country, but he hooted at the idea, wise owl, and de- 
clared that a man who had held his own in the jungles 
of India was eminently able to take care of himself 
anywhere in a bloody American state. 

One evening after Mr. Lansing had gained a rough 
and thinly populated district, he was overtaken by a 
rain storm. In vain he sought shelter. Darkness came 
on, and missing the road, which had narrowed down to 
a mere bridle-path, he wandered around in the woods, 
alternately choked by grape-vines and sawed by green- 
briars. The lightning illustrated the sulphurous im- 
precations which he called down upon the American 
government, and as he lost his hat and was struck on 
the forehead by his horse, who threw up his head to 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 53 

avoid a briar, he shook his damp hand at the blackness 
above, and in a loud oath, questioned the purity of our 
institutions. At last he saw a light glimmering faintly 
among the dripping trees and tangled underbrush. 
Slowly guiding his horse in the direction whence came 
the welcome gleam, he at last reached a low rail fence, 
surrounding a small log house. Mr. Lansing shouted. 

"Hello, yourself V exclaimed a voice, as a man poked 
his head from the door. 

'^Who lives here?" 

"I do." 

"Of course. What is your name?" 

"What's your name?" 

"George Lansing. Does Simon Butt live here?" 

"Not at present." 

"Where does he live?" 

"Don't know." 

"Did he ever live here?" 

"No." 

"Then, why do you say 'not at present' ?" 

" 'Cause he don't live here at present." 

"My friend, I am wet and " 

"Must 'uv been out in the rain?" 

"Yes, I was in all of that heavy shower." 

"No, yer wa'n't." 

"I say I was." 

"I say yer wa'n't. Some o' that shower fell here, 
an' I know yer wa'n't here when it fell. Good-night," 
closing the door. 

"Say, there!" called the Englishman. 



54 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 




OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 55 

*'Wall/' opening the door. 

"I say I am wet and " 

''Must 'uv been out in the rain/' 

"And Fm hungry." 

''Didn't have nuthin' to eat, mebby." 

"I'd Hke to stay here until morning." 

"All right, help yerself," closing the door. 

"Hello, there!" cried the Englishman. 

"Hello, yerself!" again opening the door. 

"What sort of a man are you ?" 

"Democrat. What yer own pollyticks?" 

"Confound your politics. I -" 

"Confound yer pollyticks, stranger, an' mo'n that, 
dod blame yer religion." 

"Look here, my good fellow." 

"One o' the best fellers yer ever seed." 

"Glad to hear it. I am wet " 

"Must 'uv been out in the rain." 

"I don't want any of your blasted foolishness, you 
know. I want to come in." 

"All right, never said yer couldn't." 

The floor of the little room seemed to be covered 
with children, and from a bed in a corner a head with 
long hair protruded. The squatter raked the chunks 
together — those people always keep a fire, winter and 
summer — and the cheerful blaze, shooting up the spa- 
cious "stack" chimney, invited the stranger to take off 
his coat and hold his steam^ing hands out to feel the 
warmth. 

"How far is it to Simon Butt's?" 



t.i 



56 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

'^ Young Simon or old Simon?" 

''Either one, I suppose.'* 

''Wall, they live about a mile apart. Old Simon 
lives on one hill an' young Simon on t'other." 

"But how far from here?" 

"Yer know whar the spout spring is?" 

"No." 

"Wall, that's bad, fur it's the best water in the 
curmunity." 

"Does Mr. Butt live near the spring?" 

"Who, old Simon?" 

"Yes." 

"Wall, he don't live as close to it as young Simon 
does." 

"How can I find the spring?" 

"By goin' to young Simon's." 

"But how can I find young Simon's?" 

"By goin' to the spring." 

"See here, old man, I have fooled with you long 
enough." 

"Thank the Lord!" said the squatter's wife, nerv- 
ously jerking her tangled hair. "Wish yer would 
git through with yer transacshun an' let a body git 
some sleep. Tildy, if yer don't keep them hoofs 
still I'll make yer think yer air pizened." 

"Can I lie down here on the floor and sleep?" 

"Don't know, podner. Yer oughter know whut 
yer ken do." 

"May I, then?" 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 57 

'Yes, yer may; then or now; it makes no differ- 



ence." 



The Englishman was soon asleep. Early in the 
morning he was awakened by a ^'splutter'' of hot 
grease from the frying-pan. 

"If yer don't want ter git burnt, stir 'round/' said 
the old lady. He stirred around, and soon discov- 
ered that he was only a few hundred yards from his 
destination. 

"Why didn't you tell me it was so near?" ex- 
claimed Mr. Lansing. 

"Why didn't yer ax?" replied the squatter. "Yer 
kep' on wantin' ter know how fur it was, but didn't 
ax how near. Sich folks as you oughter larn how to 
talk 'fore yer leave home. Wall, er good mornin'." 

In some parts of Missouri and Arkansas there are 
a number of people that make a doubtful living by 
hauling hoop-poles fifteen or twenty miles and then 
selling them for enough money to buy a peck of corn- 
meal and a piece of thin bacon about a foot square. 

Several days ago an old fellow who had sold his 
load of poles started home with his bag of meal on 
the seat beside him, and with his piece of bacon (to 
protect it from the sun) swung under the wa^on. Just 
as he had halted in a small stream to let his horse 
drink, an acquaintance, going out to the railway sta- 
tion, came along. 

"Hello, Alf, jest gittin' home?" 



58 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

''Yes, 'lowed I'd poke on back. Whicher way you 
goin'?" 

'' 'Lowed, I did, that Fd go out to the station an' 
see ef thar's any discussion goin' on thar. Am so 
clost penned up at home, you know, that I like to git 
outen the way of the wimin folks onct in awhile. Dun 
sold yo' poles, I see." 

''Yes, an' am goin' to take my little modicum of 
meat an' meal home so mur an' the chillun kin have 
some Sunday eaten'. Durin' week days, you know, 
they don't eat nuthin' but b'iled co'n an' sweet pota- 
toes, an' you better believe a little meat do bring 'em 
out powerful. I do believe that youngest boy of mine 
— that ar' one we call 'Drap Shot' — kin eat a string of 
meat as long as f rum here to the station. Thar's many 
a rich man that would give big money fur that boy's 
appetite. An' thar's mur! You better believe she 
ain't slow herself. I have know'd that woman to eat a 
whole b'iled pumpkin. Wall, I reckon I better be a 
shovin'." 

"Say, is that yo' dog?" 

"Whar's any dog?" the wagoner asked, and then 
looked round just in time to see the dogf making- 
off with his meat. The unfortunate .man uttered a 
yell of rage and jumped off the wagon, but the dog 
— and he had doubtless been following the wagon 
for some time seeking for an opportunity to seize the 
meat — scampered over the hill and was soon out of 
sight. The disconsolate man returned to the wagon 
to find the intelligence of another disaster awaiting 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS, 



59 




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him, for, in his haste to reach the ground, the sack of 
meal had been knocked off into the stream and had 
been borne away by the current. It was some time 
before he could say anything, and when ''at length 
his tongue came back to him," he took off his old white 
cotton hat, wiped his perspiring brow with it, and in 
a solemn voice said : 

"Alf, this here is whut a man gits fur goin' off atter 
the vanaties of the flesh. I wa'n't satisfied with b'iled 
co'n an' sweet potatoes, but must have midlin' meat an' 
sich. The Lawd won't put up with pride in this here 
world, Alf. He jest nachully won't do it." 

''Your part of the country is developing rapidly, is 
it not?" was asked of a Missouri man. 

"Oh, yes, mighty fast. Why, sir, only a few years 
ago we still used the old-fashioned pepper-box pistol, 
but we now have double-action revolvers that would 
reflect credit on any community." 

The superintendent of the Arkansaw penitentiary, 
upon meeting old Foster, who had served a term in 
prison, asked : 

"What are you doing now?'' 

"Preachin', sah." 

"What, preaching when you have just come out of 
the penitentiary?" 

"Oh, yas, sah, fur dat doan make no diffunce. 
Dat's de time fur er man ter preach, case den er nigger 
by bein' shet up wid so many white men knows whut 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 



6i 




"You don't intend to work, then?" 
"Well, not if I can help it. I ain't able." 



62 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

sins dar is in de worl'. Ef yer wants ter 'gust er nig- 
ger, boss, pen him up wid white men." 



Baxter Phimmer, an old negro well known in the 
neighborhood of the recent ''race war'' in Arkansaw, 
was sitting on a stump in his dooryard, repairing the 
bow of an ox-yoke, when a man of pleasant address 
approached him and said : 

'Is this Mr. Baxter Plummer?" 

"Yas, sah, you hit de nail on de head dat time, sho'. 
Whut ken I do fur yer, sah?'' he added, as he put the 
ox-bow down beside the stump. 

"Oh, nothing at all. I was merely passing, and, not 
being in a hurry, thought I would stop a few moments 
and chat with you. I have heard of you a number of 
times. J. W. Buck, who keeps the plantation supply 
store, has told me a good deal about you." 

"Yas, sah; yas, an' I lay dat he didn't tell you dat 
I hab eber 'glected ter pay fur ever' thing dat I got dar 
on er credic." 

"Upon the contrary, he says that you are a man of 
most unsullied integrity." 

"Did he say dat ? Er haw, haw ! Man o' most solid 
'tegrity, I reckon I is. Oh, sah, I's gittin' 'long putty 
well in dis yere life. Eats ez much ez de av'age man 
do, chaws er fa'r artickle o' terbacker, an', altergedder, 
'joys merse'f putty well." 

"Baxter, were you living here during the recent 
trouble between the whites and the blacks ?" 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 



63 



*'Been er livin' right yere fur twenty yeah, sah/' 
''A g^ood long- time. You have never had any 
trouble, have you?'' 
''None er tall, sah/' 







"Oh, sah, I's gittin' 'long putty well in dis yere life. 
Eats es much ez de av'age man do, chaws er fa'r artickle 
o' terbacker, an', altergedder, 'joys merse'f putty well.'' 

"Suppose a race war should come up, what would 
you do?" 

"I'd say, 'Hoi' on, yere, folks; hoi' on, yere.' " 
"Yes, but suppose a number of blacks should ride 



64 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

up to your house, and, in an excited manner, tell you 
that they had been fired upon by the whites, and 
were to beg you to assist them, what would you do?'' 

"Fd say, 'Genermen, whut sorter stock you ridin' ?'' 

''You don't mean to say that you won't fight?" 

"No, sah, but I tell you whut I do mean. I means 
dat I ain't got nuthin' ter do wid all dis yere foolish- 
ness." 

*'0f course you haven't, but suppose you were 
shoved into a fight with a white man?" 

''Yas, an' spozen I wuz shoved out ergin right 
erway?" 

''Let me put the case. You are going along the 
road " 

"Yas, Fs gwine 'long de road." 

"Don't interrupt me. You are going along the road 
and you meet a white man. You and he fall into 
conversation, then you get into a dispute, then into 
a quarrel and then into a fiffht. You don't want to 
hurt the man, but above all you don't want him to 
hurt you; so, in an ardent defense of yourself, you 
kill the white man. Then you would find yourself in 
an embarrassing situation. You would be accused of 
murder, and, unless your friends should assist you, 
you should, without much ado, be hanged. So, you 
see, acting even in self-defense, you could bring about 
a race war." 

"Yas, sah, dat's er fack, but I think I'd be er little 
toO' sharp fur dat. Ef I wuz ter kill him, I would 
drag him ter de water an' fling him in, an' den de folks 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 65 

would say dat de Hon. Mr. So-an'-So dun drowned 
hisse'f." 

**Yes, but the bruises on his body would prove a 
greater violence than mere drowning; and again, sup- 
pose there was no water handy?'' 

"Wall, sah, Fd bury de generman." 

"But his grave, on being discovered, would lead to 
an investigation." 

"Yas, but I wouldn't let it be skovered." 

"How could you help it?" 

"W'y, sah, Fd drag de generman off in de leaves, 
^side de road, till night come, an' den, while nobody 
wuz passin', I would bury him right in de middle o' 
de road. Den Fd beat down de dirt an' den Fd chop 
down er tree an' let it fall 'cross de place so it would 
look like somebody been atter er coon, you see, an' den 
I would chop out er log so folks could pass, an' de 
fresh-lookin' dirt da would think wuz made by de 
fallin' o' de tree, an' dar wouldn' be no questions 
axed. Folks might wonder whut had 'come o' de Hon. 
So-an'-So, but nobody wouldn' think erbout lookin' 
down un'er de road. So Mr. Buck says I is er good 
man, do he? Wall, sah, lemme tell yer, I doan hab 
no trouble gittin' whut I wants frum dat man, caze 
he knows Fs so hones'." 

"Yes, Mr. Buck thinks a great deal of you. Well, 
I must go. By the way, what ever became of Tobe 
Grant?" 

"Who, dat yaller man?" 

"Yes." 



66 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

''Oh, he lef de country some time ergo/' 

"How do you know?'' 

''Wall, I reckon he lef, caze I ain't seed him fur 
some time." 

"Don't you suppose that you would have seen him 
had you looked in the right place?" 

"I doan' un'erstan' you. Whut you come talkin' 
ter me so foolish fur? Dat man has been gone 'way 
frum yere mo'n six yeah." 

"You ought to know." 

"How come I ought to know?" 

"You buried him in the road. Steady, now. 
Make the slightest break, and I'll shoot you. His 
body was found this morning. Steady, I say." 

The visitor drew a pistol. 

"How you know it is his body? You kain't prube 
it. I gwine hab de law take holt o' you fur comin' 
'roun' yere 'cusin' me diser w^ay." 

"A large brass ring that he always wore on his 
left middle finger has been identified, and, the truth 
is, you killed him. Steady, now." 

"He tried ter kill me. He tried ter choke me ter 
death!" 

"That may be true, but you killed him." 

"How you find it out?" , 

"Why, you have just as good as told me." 

"By telling how I would bury er man in de road?" 

"Yes." 

"Wait er minit. You is one o' deze yere 'tectives, 
ain't you?" 

"Yes." 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 



67 




•-•••.>^P (.71 , '^.^i ^# 










68 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

"Wait er minit. An' I jes stood yere an' gin my- 
se'f erway like er fool, didn't I ?" 

"Yes." 

"Wait er minit. Let me think erbout dis erfair. 
Doan hoi' dat pistol dater way, it mout go ofif. Huh, 
stood right yere an' tole all erbout myse'f like er fool. 
Cap'n, I speck you better take me right out in de 
woods yere an' hang me, caze I's erfeared dat I ain't 
got sense ernuff ter go ter town wid you. Ef er man 
hader tole me dat I wuz sicher fool ez dis I would er 
hit him, sho. Who is all dem men comin'?" 

"They are coming to help me take you to town. We 
don't want your friends to attempt any foolishness, 
you know. I have been waiting for those men and 
have therefore talked longer than was actually neces- 
sary. Let me put these handcuffs on you." 

"Wall, ef dis doan beat anything I eber seed. Huh, 
ef er man had tole me dat I wuz sich er fool I woulder 
mixed wid him right dar. Man bo'n o' woman is o' er 
few days an' er blame fool." 

"How many cows does your father milk?" asked 
a man of a boy that sat on a fence near a Missouri 
homestead. 

"Don't milk none," the boy answered. 

"I'm sorry to hear it, for I am about to start a 
cheese factory in this neighborhood, and want to know 
how much milk I can depend on. So your father 
don't milk any?" 

"No, pap don't." 

"Well, how many cows has your father?" 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 



69 



"He ain't got none, pap hain't/' 
"Well, I declare, and yet he seems to be very well 
fixed." 

"Yas, reckon he is well fixed." 




'Tap's been dead a year or more and blamed ef I can 
see what he wants with a cow." 

"Why don't he buy some cows?" 
"Don't need 'em, I reckon." 
"But don't your mother like milk?" 
"Oh, yes, mighty fond of it." 



70 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

"And don't you?" 

''Yas, powerful." 

"And yet you do without it just because your father 
don't happen to Hke it." 

"No, don't do without it. Drink a all-fired sight 
of it." 

"Oh, you buy it, I suppose." 

"No, we milk it." 

"Thought you said your father had no cows." 

"I did. Pap's been dead a year or more, and blamed 
ef I can see what he wants with a cow. If you had a 
asked me how many cows mam had I could a-told 
you." 

In the neighborhood surrounding Henseley's Grove, 
a sleepy station on a Southern railway, in Arkansas, 
there was but one feature^ to attract attention and that 
was a young fellow with one leg. His name was Dan 
Peters ; and he had lost his leg one night while trying 
to save a passenger train. There had been a sudden 
rise in Goose Creek and the bridge had been swept 
away. Dan had been to mill that morning and on his 
way home he found that the bridge was gone, and he 
knew that it was nearly time for the north-bound 
passenger train. He was on the right side of the 
creek. He built a fire on the track and waited. He 
then tied his old mare to a bush, and about the time 
he lighted the fire he heard her trying to get loose. 
He ran to her. • She had thrown ofif the sack of meal 
and was tugging at the bush. When he came back 
within reach she let her hind feet fly and kicked him. 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 



71 




72 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

He must have fainted, for it was some time afterward 
before he knew anything, and then there came the con- 
sciousness of two things; one was that his leg was 
broken and the other was that the fire had gone out. 
He was suffering intensely, but he knew his duty. He 
dragged himself up the embankment, and with his be- 
numbed fingers he fumbled with a match. His suffer- 
ing was so great that it required all his strength of 
will to keep his mind on the work that he sought to 
accomplish and he must have fainted again, for a new 
sensation of pain aroused him — he was sprawling on 
the track and the match had burned aw^ay in his 
fingers. He heard the train. He uttered a cry. Was 
his last match gone? He fumbled in his pockets. One 
was left. But the wood was wet and the kindling had 
burned out. He saw the headlight. He snatched oft* 
his coat. He tore off his shirt, and struck the match. 
It burned. He touched it to his shirt, and then with a 
struggle he stood on one foot and high above his head 
he w^aved the blazing garment. Then he fell — fell and 
rolled down the embankment. The train stopped. A 
man went forw^ard with a lantern. On the track he 
found some fragments of wood, and a smoking rag; 
he saw that the bridge was gone and looked about but 
could see no one. He called but received no answer. 

''I wonder what we are backing for," a passenger 
growled. A party of men were drinking wine in the 
smoking compartment of the sleeper. 

''Helloa, we're going back." 

'Tet her roll." 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 73 

It was daylight when the boy's father found him. 
He was taken home and the doctor said that his leg 
must come ofif; and it did come off. The railway 
company paid the surgeon's bill. It was said that 
something of a substantial nature would be done for 
the boy; but a great financier in the East got control 
of the road shortly afterward and nothing was done. 
The boy's father wrote to him. ''My little fellow ain't 
got but one leg and the reason of it is he saved a 
passenger train" ; but the letter was not answered. A 
lawyer called on the superintendent of the road. 

*'Yes, something ought to be done about that," said 
the superintendent. 

^'Something must be done about it," the lawyer re- 
plied. 

*'Not must, but should," the superintendent re- 
joined. "This is practically another road, you know." 

"But justice makes the same demand," this lawyer 
insisted. 

"Ah, but there can be no demand in this matter. 
The boy was not hurt by the train." 

"No, but he lost his leg while saving the train." 

"Yes, quite heroic, I'm sure; and as I say, some- 
thing ought to be done, but you see the affairs of the 
road are in an unsettled condition, and the stock has 
gone down. I think that something may be done as 
soon as we get straightened out." 

Months, years passed and nothing was done. 

It was a chilly day, and a group of idle men sat 
about the fire in the railway station at Henseley's 
Grove. A lank fellow, humping over, picked a nail 



74 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

off the stove and dropped it when it burned him; a 
man in brown jeans trod upon a yellow dog's foot and 
made him! howl ; the station master put an oyster can 
half full of water, wath a string hanging from it, on 
the stove; a loud-talking man stamped the mud off his 
boots, and said that he believed it was going to sleet ; 
and then there came a thump, thump, thump, thump. 

^^Helloa, Dan Peters." 

^'How are you, gentlemen ?*' 

^'Do yo' laig pain yo' much, this changoble 
weather?'' an old man asked. 

''Yes, a good deal. Don't think I slep' mo'n a wink 
last night." 

''How long has it been since you lost your leg?" 
a stranger asked. 

"It's been a good while — let me see, fo' years the 
secon' of this month." 

"How did you lose it?" 

"Wall, a ole mar' kicked me, but I don't reckon it 
would have been tuck off ef I hadn't worried around 
tryin' to stop a passenger train so she wouldn't run 
off the bridge down yander." 

"Oh, you are the hero that stopped that train." 

"No; I was the boy that done it, an' I done a pretty 
good job, they say, but I am right sorry that I lost 
my laig." 

The telegraph operator, holding a yellow slip of 
paper, stepped into the room. "Let us have the news, 
Charley." 

The operator looked at the paper and simply re- 
marked : "Jay Gould is dead." 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 75 

'Thar, Dan/' cried an old man, the weather oracle 
of the neighborhood, and necessarily a profound 
thinker, and an accurate forecaster of coming events. 

"Thar, Dan,'' he repeated, "yo' fortune has come 
at last. Gentlemen, I know the ways of this here 
world and Vm mighty well up with the tricks of rich 
men, and Til tell you exactly what's my idee of this 
case. Gould has kept suthin' back fur Dan, and is 
goin' to leave it to him by will. You mark my words, 
all of you. And he won't leave him a cent short of 
$5,000." 

The oracle's words took effect, and during the next 
few days Dan was pointed out as one of the Gould 
heirs. But a newspaper came out and told of the 
disposition of Gould's property. Dan's name was not 
mentioned. After having been pointed out as a man 
marked by fortune, this was a severe blow. Indeed, it 
was a humiliation, and Dan, imable to bear it, went 
over to another county where his name was not known. 
He sought work, but could find none. No one cared 
to hire a one-legged man. 'People said that if he were 
of any account he wouldn't go stumping about over 
the country. 

One day Dan was arrested on a charge of stealing 
ten dollars, and was arraigned before an exceedingly 
severe old judge. A jury was impaneled; the keen 
prosecuting attorney came, armed with his authorities, 
and merciless in the cause of justice. 

"Jedge," said Dan, getting up and stumping his way 
to the middle of the room, "I don't think thar was any 
use fur all this here preparation, for I ain't got nothin' 



76 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

to deny. I was in that man's carpenter shop — went in 
thar to get some sort of work, and failed as usual — 
and I seed him when he put ten dollars in a tin box. 
To me thar was in that box suthin' to eat and a way 
to git home. I couldn't walk home, fur it's mighty 
bad walkin' with only one laig, Jedge; so I said to 
myself, 'I'll take this money and pay it back if I ever 
get the chance,' and I took it." 

"How did you lose your leg?" the Judge asked. 

"Oh, well, I don't like much to tell about it. Kept 
a passenger train from running off into Goose Creek, 
one night a long time ago and — " 

"Hold on," said the Judge, "I heard that the boy 
who saved that train had been left a good sum of 
money by Jay Gould." 

"The folks in my neighborhood said that he would 
undoubtedly leave me suthin', Jedge, but he didn't 
do it." 

"Gentlemen of the jury," said the Judge, "I'm go- 
ing to take the law into my own hands, I don't care 
what the folks think or what they do at the next elec- 
tion. I'm going to turn this man loose; and more 
than that, I'll start a subscription for him right here 
with a hundred dollars. The rest of you may give as 
little as you like, but I wish you would give something. 
Young man, you needn't go home, for I'll see that you 
get employment. I was on that train that night." 

The editor of the Hornbeam Maul received a visit 
from Tobe Phillips. 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 



n 



"Look here/' said Mr. Phillips, *'last week you 
spoke of the death of my grandmother, Mrs. Harky/' 
"Yes, yes, so I did. Anything wrong?" 




"The old lady usually tuk a chaw of tobacker about the 
size of a walnut and I don't reckon there was a better 
judge of licker in our neighborhood." 



"You said she was ninety-eight years old and — '' 
"Well, wasn't she that old ?'' 

"Oh, yes, but you said that she never chewed to- 
bacco and was never drunk in her life/' 



78 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

^Well, IS there anything wrong about that?'' 

''But don't you understand, it sorter reflects on us 
on her." 

"How so." 

''Wall, now ril tell you. I don't reckon there is a 
more respectable lot of people anywhere than we are — " 

"That's all right, old fellow. I didn't mean any 
reflection. You see, when a very old man dies the 
newspapers, particularly the temperance publications, 
say that he never used tobacco or liquor; and what 
I said was merely a take-oft." 

"Yes," said the visitor, "your intentions were all 
right, but what you say ain't the truth. The old lady 
usually tuk a chaw of tobacker about the size of a 
walnut and I don't reckon there was a better jedge 
of licker in our neighborhood. She was sorter proud 
of her record in regard to licker, and if it won't be 
too much trouble to you I wish you would make a sort 
of correction." 

A three shell fakir had just begun operations on 
the outskirts of an Arkansas village when an old 
fellow wearing a green vest and a long jeans coat 
came along, and who, after looking for a while at the 
manipulation of the shells, said : 

"You've got some sort of trick, I reckon." 

"Oh, not very much of a trick. Sort of a game 
that's as fair for one as it is for the other." 

"Yas, and I reckon a good deal fairer for the one 
than the other." 

"No," replied the fakir, continuing to work the 



dPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 79 

shells, '1 don't think so. I have lost considerable 
money at it in my time." 

''Why don't you do something else, then?" 




*'I 'bleve ril go you once jest for luck. It's under that 
one right thar." 

^Truth is I have been at this business so long that 
I don't know how to make a living any other way." 
^'Raised to it, I reckon." 
"Yes, my father done the same thing." 
''And he lost a good deal of money, too, I reckon." 



8o OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

"Got broke up and had to quit the business." 

"And I reckon you 'low to foller in his footsteps." 

"Not if I can help it; still, Fve got to take my 
chances." 

"I reckon you air right about that. Say, how do 
the thing work?" 

'Til show you : You see I put this pea down here 
and cover it with a shell." 

"That's easy enough done," said the old fellow, 
wiping his tobacco-stained mouth on the tail of his 
coat. 

"Oh, yes, putting it in there is easy enough, but 
the thing is to guess which shell it is under." 

"Wall, but I don't have to guess when I seed which 
one you put it under." 

"Well, you are entitled to your opinion, but Til bet 
you five dollars you can't guess which shell the pea 
is under." 

"I 'bleve I'll go you once jest for luck. It's under 
that one right thar." 

The fakir lifted up the shell indicated and there was 
the pea. 

"Yes, sir, you got me that time. Suppose we try it 
again. Now I'll bet you ten you can't tell which one 
it's under." 

"Up with yo' money. I'm yo' man." 

The money was put up. "Under this one," said the 
old fellow. 

"Well, you happened to lose that time," said the 
fakir, taking* up the shell and then taking the money. 
"Want to try it again?" 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 8i 

^^No, I believe not/' the old fellow replied saunter- 
ing away. Shortly afterward he was stopped by an 
acquaintance, who said : ''Jerry, I thought you had 
more sense than that/' 

'Than whut?'' he asked in surprise. 

"Why, I didn't think you would let a man come 
along and beat you out of your money that easily." 

''Has anybody beat me outen any money?" 

"Why, of course. That fellow back there beat you 
out of five dollars." 

"That so ? Now let me calculate a little. I bet him 
five the fust time and won ; and the second time I bet 
ten and lost." 

"Yes, which means that he beat you out of five." 

"It do look a little that way, but let me sorter ex- 
plain. I knowed that he wanted to draw me on and 
that I could git the fust bet, and I did; but the next 
time I put up a counterfeit ten. He has mixed it up 
with his other money and now couldn't tell whar he got 
it. My son is a constable, you know, and atter awhile 
he will pull the feller for havin' counterfeit money and 
then w^e will run him in and fine him and make a few 
dollars by the operation. Times air so hard that it do 
push a honest man might'ly, and when I manage to 
pick up a five now and then I consider that I have done 
putty well." 

An old fellow who had just served a sentence of 
ten years in the penitentiary was asked if he enjoyed 
his freedom. 



82 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

''Well," said he, ''it kinder suits me until meal time 
comes and then it sorter don't." 

"Don't like to work, eh?" 

"Well, no. If I had I wouldn'ter went to the pen." 

"How did they feed you?" 

"Tolerable. It wa'n't a barbecue, still it did putty 
well. Only one objection." 

"What was that?" 

"Had to work for it." 

"Did they ever whip you?" 

"Well, they teched me with a strap onct." 

"Hurt you, I suppose." 

"Well, it didn't feel good." 

"Do you ever expect to go back there?" 

"That sorter depends." 

"Upon what?" 

"Upon whuther or no they ketch me." 

"You don't intend to work, then ?" 

"Well, not if I can help it. I ain't able." 

"You look to be a very strong man." 

"Yes, but workin' makes me lonesome." 

"What was the hardest thing you had to bear in 
the penitentiary?" 

"Jaw." 

"What?" 

"Taw. Young preachers would come around and 
talk to us." 

"Why did you object to the young preachers?" 

"Well, we had to sit and listen till they got through 
preachin'. It made me lonesome." 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 83 

He died about the time the war came up. Who? 
The old negro, dark yellow, with red freckles, knock- 
kneed, deep of voice. He used to come to town with 
shuck horse-collars and great twists of tobacco strung 
on a hemp string. His loud laugh was heard on the 
square; and when the tavern bell rang for dinner, 
he would saunter off with his merchandise thrown 
over his shoulder and stand at the kitchen doorway, 
waiting for something to eat. He appeared to belong 
to no man, and yet he was not under the ''free nig- 
ger's" disgrace. Young women entrusted their per- 
fumed notes to him; young men sent him after 
whisky. He brought the first June apples tied up in 
a red bandana handkerchief; in a sack he carried the 
first watermelon of the season. He found the first 
partridge nest in the wheat ; he knew where the guinea 
hen laid her speckled eggs. He liked to hang about 
the stables where blanketed horses were training for 
the race; and he knew the pedigree of the flyers, the 
time that they had made, their ages, their tempera- 
ments. He knew the numbers of all the railway en- 
gines that came through the town, and from a dis- 
tance was wont to cry, "Yander comes ole twenty-six." 
He was devoted to children, but always appeared to be 
on the verge of a quarrel with them. ''You gwine 
fool roun' yere till you git hurt," he would say. "An' 
mo'n dat, de ole Bad Man gwine snatch you up one 
deze days an' run off wid you un'er his arm. He's 
dun had his eye on you fur some time. He ain't 
gwine put up wid yo' foolishness much longer; he 
doan like de way you treat deze ole folks dat 'longs 



84 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 




"Young women entrusted their perfumed notes to him; 
young men sent him after whisky." 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 85 

ter de Lawcl You better look roun'. He ain' fur ofif. 
Look at 3^ou dar now, wipin' yo' greasy ban's on yo' 
cloze! Ought ter be 'shamed o' yo' se'f ter spile dem 
nice gyarmints dat Marse John dun gib you. Whut, 
you flung dat braid 'an meat erway? Neber mine, 
boy, dar'll come er time w'en you wish you had dat 
vidults. Oh, I knows you is mighty brash now, but 
you'll come down atter w'ile, an' you'll come down 
ker bip! Dat's how you'll come down. De Lawd neb- 
ber did lub er chile dat flings vidults erway. De Lawd 
jes nachully spizes sich er chile ez dat. But you'll be 
all right ef you 'haves yo'se'f. You'se 'er putty chile, 
anyhow; an' fo' gracious, I does b'lebe you gwine be 
good. Go on in de house now, and fetch me er biscuit 
wid butter an' sugar on it. Dat's er bright chile, now ; 
go on. I know whar dar's er ole coon libs in er tree, 
an' it ain' gwine be long 'fo' I go dar an' git him; an' 
I ain' gwine teck nobody wid jne. I ain' gwine teck 
no boy, no how. Whut's dat ? Will I teck you ef you 
fetches me dat biscuit? Lemme see 'bout dat. Wall, 
yas, I'll teck you; but you mus' put plenty o' sugar 
an' butter on it, you yere?" 

He appeared to grow no older as time passed; for 
the boy that brought him the sugared biscuit grew 
to manhood, married, and heard his own son tell that 
the old man was going to show him where a coon 
lived. 

Strange flags waved in the town, and men who had 
been gentle were now fierce of countenance. Drums 
thundered in the streets, and down by the spring 
where the voice of the exhorter had so often been heard 



85 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

urging the ''sinner man" to come to Christ, the bugler 
stood and blew his startling: call. War was in the air ; 
the horses that had been wont to pace, galloped now; 
and the lawyers about the courthouse talked not of 
w^itnesses and changes of venue, but of Mississippi rifles 
and artillery. But the old man came in with his shuck 
collars and his twists of tobacco, and a ruffian snatched 
his tobacco and threw his collars into the street. His 
day was done; the man of peace was no longer re- 
spected, it was not a time to amuse children with 
stories, but to kill men with guns. The old man dis- 
appeared in the smoke, went far away where the haze 
hung over the hill, and no one gave him a thought. 
The negroes heard a loud cry from the North, and 
startled, stood in groups wondering at their freedom. 
But the old man was not among" them. His freedom 
had come, but had not been shouted by man. It had 
been whispered by death. 

Two Little Rock negroes engaged in a quarrel when 
one struck the other on the head with a wagon-spoke. 
The negro that had received the blow, rubbed his head 
for a moment and then said: 

'Took yere, Stephen, dar's one thing dat is er 
powerful blessin' fur you." 

"Whut's dat?" 

"De fact dat my head is ez thick ez it is. W'y ef 
my head wa'n't no thicker den de common run o' 
heads, dat lick would er killed me an' den you would 
er been tuck befo' er jestice o' de peace an' fined 
mighty nigh twenty dollars. You'd better thank de 
Lawd dat I ain't got one deze yere aig-shell heads," 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 



87 




-^^^^^.^^^^r-"-^^^. 




"You'd better thank de Lawd dat I ain't ^ot one deze 
yere aig-shell heads/' 



Old George Jespin, of Missouri, while in Chicago 
the other day, went to see the ossified man. When 
the shudder-inspiring freak was stood up in full view 
of the wonder-murmuring audience, old George gazed 
with drop-jaw astonishment, and then, speaking to a 
man who stood near, said : 

"You don't mean ter say that he's all bone?'' 

"I haven't said anything at all," the man answered, 



88 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

''but if it's any satisfaction to you I will say that he's 
all bone." 

''Wall, he beats my time and my time hain't been 
so mighty slow, nuther. I lived in Indiana one year — 
rented the old Jimison place, an' not so long ago tuck 
a trip to Iowa, but I must say that I never seed nothin' 
like this here before. Kin he eat?" 

"Didn't you hear the lecturer say that he can eat 
anything?" 

"Yas, but I didn't know whuther it was the truth 
or not. I don't reckon he ever has the rheumatiz in 
them shanks o' hizn." 

"I suppose not." 

"But I w^ouldn't take his place fur his wages. 
Would you?" 

"No." 

"I wonder ef he's a Democrat." 

"I don't know." 

"Tell you what I'll do with you : I'll go out an' 
shake you to see who pays fur the licker." 

"I don't drink." 

"Huh, you must be a osterfied man yo'se'f. Wall, 
I'll shake you ter see who pavs fur the snack." 

"No." 

"Sort o' clost communionist, ain't you?" 

"Don't bother me." 

"Come down, an' I'll set 'em up." 

"Don't bother me, I tell you." 

"You ain't so very friendly, air you? Say, it 
wouldn't be safe fur that osterfied man ter go down 
in Missouri." 



'I of a* 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 89 

''Becaze some feller would shove him in a bone mill 
an' have him out on a turnip patch in less'n no time. 
Wall, ril hatter leave you now. I alius make it a 
p'int ter move along when I find out that folks ain't 
hankerin' atter my s'ciety. Won't drink?" 

"No." 

"Won't eat?" 

"No, I tell you." 

"Wall, come on, then, an' we'll play a game o' 
poker." 

"I'm with you," the man replied. 

"Wall, now, I am glad ter see that you ain't all 
bone. I don't play, but I'm glad ter know that you 
do — glad ter know that you ain't entirely lost ter the 
beauties o' this world." 

A negro had a number of fish exposed for sale on a 
table placed near the edge of the sidewalk. A white 
man came along and, bending over, began to snifif and 
snort. 

"Whut's de matter wid you?" the negro asked. 
"Nothing; I was only smelling of these fish." 
"Whut you want to come roun' yere smellin' o' 'em 
fur? Da ain't yo' property. Is it the right thing ter 
do, goin' roun' de neighborhood a-smellin' o' udder 
folks property?" 

"I smelled of them to see if they were fresh." 
"Whut business is it o' you'n whudder da fresh ur 
not when you ain't got no intrust in 'em ! Is dat de 
way folks does whar you wuz raised — go 'roun' ter 



90 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

see whudder things dat doan 'long ter you is fresh ur 
not?" 

''I didn't knoAv but what I wanted to buy one of 
these fish." 

''Now you talkin' Hke er man o' de 'mercial life. 
Yere's er fine feesh, sah ; dis yere wall-eyed pike. He's 
mighty fresh — ain't been outen de water mo'n ha'f er 
hour." 

*'How long had he been dead before they found 
him?" 

"Whut'sdat, sah?" 

"I say how long had this fish been a corpse before 
the remains were discovered?" 

''Go on erway frum yere, now; go on, caze I doan 
wanter hatter hurt you. Feesh layin' yere flutterin' 
fitten ter kill hiss'f an' you wanter know how long he 
been dead. Go on." 

"Fluttering! Why, the flies have blown him." 

"Yas, an' da'll blow you, too, ef you doan go on 
erway frum yere. Times hard ernuff widout you com- 
in' 'roun' yere 'sultin' de trade. Go on, caze ef you 
doan I kain' keep my ban's ofifen you much longer." 

"To tell you the truth, old man, I don't want fresh 
fish. I am a manufacturer of Limberger, and I use 
spoiled fish to flavor the cheese." 

"Huh, is dat whar dat 'fume come frum? I sorter 
thought so long time ergo. Yere's er feesh right ober 
yere, sah, dat's been dead er good while. Smell o' him. 
Ain't he loud ernuff fur you?" 

"I don't want that sort of fish ; I want a wall-eyed 
pike about like this one. I'm sorry he's so fresh, for 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 91 

Avhen I find a fish that just suits me, I am willing to 
give almost any price for it." 

*'Yas, sah, dat is a monst'us fine feesh, sho's you 
live. Man come long yere jes' now an' tole me he 
tuck him outen de water 'bout haffer hour ergo, but I 
knows dat man, an' I reckon dar ain't no bigger liar 
nowhar. Come try ter 'pose on me datter way. W'y, 
dis feesh is been dead er week at leas'. Jes' smell o' 
him. Ain't he got de 'fume an' de flaber?" 

^'That's all right, old man. I have found out what 
I wanted to — I have discovered that you sell rotten fish 
and I am going to have you arrested." 

''Didn't I tell you dat ef you didn't git erway frum 
yere I couldn't keep my ban's offen you ? Spen' you' 
nights in stealin' ballot-boxes an' den come erroun' in 
de day an' 'suit er man's trade. Git outen de way ur 
I'll hit you wid dis feesh you dun slandered." 

Two old-time negroes met in the road. "Good maw- 
nin', Mr. Green, good mawnin', sah." 

''Good mawnin' ter yo'se'f, Mr. Jackson. How's 
you gittin' erlong?" 

"Fust rate, 'ceptin' er little trouble in de congrega- 
tion once in er while. Doan hab no trouble in yo' 
church, does you?" 

"Better blebe I does, sah; better blebe dat fack. De 
bruders an' de sisters gits ter rarin' an' er chargin' ever 
once in er while, an' ef I didn' stay right dar plum by 
'em ever' thing would be dun gone ter rack an' ruin. 
Wall, now, comin' dow^n frum de fam'ly o' de Lawd ter 



92 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

de fam'ly o' de flesh, how's yo' own folks gittin er- 
long?'' 

'Tutty well, 'siderin'/' 

''How's dem twms?" 

''We ain't got no twins." 

"Look yere, you doan mean ter tell me dat you ain't 
got no tw^ins down ter yo' house." 

"Yes, I does." 

"But you did hab twins down dar, didn' you?" 

"No, not twins, but lemme tell you we'se come in 
one o' it ten times — jest come in one." 

"Wall, I knowed you eider had twins down dar ur a 
mighty norrer skape. Good mawnin', sah. I mus' go 
on down yander an' look atter de fam'ly o' de Lawd." 

A man charged with robbing a stage coach in a 
remote county of Arkansas was brought to trial the 
other day, and although he had numerous friends, was 
sentenced to the penitentiary for a term of ninety-nine 
years. Immediately after the sentence had been pro- 
nounced, the prisoner's face lighted up with an expres- 
sion of joy ; and, moving about the court room, he be- 
gan to shake hands with his friends. 

"Why, Bob," said a friend, "you act as if you were 
glad." 

"I am," the prisoner answered. 

"Did you expect to be hanged ?" 

"Oh, no." 

"Then how can you be pleased at your sentence?" 

"Why, you see I was only sentenced for ninety-nine 
years." 



OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 93 

''Yes, I understand that.'' 

*'But," said the prisoner, smiling broadly, ''I was 
afraid that instead of ninety-nine they might send me 
up for a hundred. I tell you that to a man who is get- 
ting along in life one year makes a good deal of differ- 
ence/' 



A Little Rock negro went up to the general delivery 
window of the postoffice and asked if there were any 
letters for Mr. Phil Potter. 

''No," the clerk replied. 

"Look yare, ain' you sorter wraung 'bout dat?" 

"I tell you there is nothing for you." 

"I know you tole me dat, but I's got reasons fur 
bTebin' dat you's wraung." 

"I don't care what you've got. Get jiw^ay from 
here." 

"I ken do dat, sah, wid de grace o' de possuls, but 
It's mighty cuis dat dar ain' no letter yare fur me, I 
ken tell you dat right now." 

He turned away, and, muttering to himself, said : 
"Mighty strange whut come o' dat letter, fur I put it 
in dar las' night merse'f. Fotch er lot er niggers down 
yare ter see me git dat letter out, an' it ain't on de 
premises. Mebby dat white man didn' put my name 
on it right. Folks kai' speck me ter be er mudwump 
ef da treats me like dis. Gwine lose my 'fluence ef er 
change ain't tuck putty soon. Gw^ine git somebody ter 
send me one deze yare tilly-grams." 



94 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

In a restaurant. Fat man takes up a glass of beer. 
Scrawny fellow sitting opposite. 

''Mister, ho-ho-hold on — on " 

''What's the matter with you?'' 

"W'y, do-do-don't drink that— that " 

"I will drink it. You temperance cranks are getting 
to be a trifle too impudent. It's none of your business 
how much beer I drink." [Drinks the beer.] 

"Oh, I know it's none of my bus-bus-business. Saw 
a fly in — in — it, and did-did-didn't think you ought 
to — to — swallow it, but you did-did. Wa-wa-wait; 
what's your hurry?" 

"Are those eggs fresh ?" a woman asked of a negro 
grocer. 

"Dat's whut da is. Jedge Smif got some o' em las' 
night, an' he come er roun' yere dis mawnin' an' lowed, 
he did, dat da wuz de fust rale fresh aigs he has seed 
fur er year. Oh, dat white pusson is the finest jedge o' 
aigs I eber seed in all my horned days. W'y, here is 
de jedge now." 

"Look here," said the judge, "those infernal eggs I 
got from you last night were as rotten as the record of 
a chicken thief." 

"Huh !" the negro gasped. 

"You heard what I said, you old scoundrel. Give 
me twenty-five cents or I will maul you right here." 

The negro handed the money over, and when the 
judge had gone the black rascal turned to the woman 
and said: "I has seed er good many po' jedges o' 
aigs, but dat gennerman is de wust I eber did see. Dat 
man sholy kain't be right in his taste.'' 



dPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 95 

Mandy Spillers, a colored lady, swore out a warrant 
against Zeb Snow. 

''What did this man do?'' the justice of the peace 
asked. 

"He 'suited me, sah; dat's whut he done." 

''How — what did he say?" 

'^Didn' say nuthin'." 

"How, then, did he insult you?" 

"W'y, sah, he come erlong whar I wuz sweepin' de 
yard an' grabbed me an' kissed me, he did." 

"Did you make any outcry?" 

"No, sah." 

"Did you try to get away from him?" 
"Who, me? Look yere, jedge, do you think good- 
lookin' men is so plenty deze days dat I gwine ter git 
away frum one when he grab me?" 

"But if you were so willing, how was it an insult?" 

"How wuz it er insult? W'y, sah, he turned me 
loose an' went 'cross de yard an' kissed er black imp o* 
er lady dat is old ernuff ter be my mammy, sah. Dat's 
how he 'suited me." 

SOME PLANTATION PHILOSOPHY. 

We ken alius furgin er nuder pusson easier den we 
ken furgin ourselbes. Ef I makes a mistake an' fools 
roun' de wrong man, it takes me er laung time ter 
furgin myse'f fur not habin' mo' judgment. 

It's de odd sarcumstance dat ketches de man on de 
hip. We ginnerally knows how ter han'le de sarcum- 
stances whut aint odd, case we knows dar tricks. I 



Si ^jO I ^'^'3 



96 OPIE READ IN THE OZARKS. 

neber wants ter box wid er lef handed man nor rassle 
wid er bow-laigecl pusson. 

I ain't got nothin' ergin er pusson whut likes ter war 
rings an' shiny pins, but I doan think dat such pussons 
eber 'complishes much good till arter da draps dat 
sorter foolishness. De tree haster shake off de bright 
bloom 'fore de fruit is gwine ter come, 

I neber wastes my time in wushin' dat I wuz like de 
man whut is great an' er way up yander. I doan kere 
how high de buzzard fly — way up 'mong de clouds — 
he's got ter come down arter er while an' be jis ez low 
ez a bird whut couldn' fly ha'f so high. 
, Some o' de sharpest tricks in dis life is played by 
fools. One time er smart white man tried his best ter 
beat me outen er part o' my crap an' failed, but de next 
day er fool nigger come er long an' beat me outen two 
bales o' cotton. 

When er pusson knows ever'thing else in de world, 
he is den nearly reddy ter size up er 'oman. 

- Man ain't de only critter dat fails ter show gratitude. 
De mule colt don't lub his mammy atter she stops gibin' 
milk fur him. 

Erbout de greatest pleasures o' dis life comes from 
our bein' deceived. Er lady wuz er settin' at de winder, 
listenin' ter er mockin' bird. She almos' tuck er fit o' 
joy ober de music, but when she found dat it wuz er 
man dat wuz whistlin' she driv him erway.- 



HE GREATEST BOOK OF HUMO R EVER. PUBLISHED^ 

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mj A I 015 863 686 4 ^ I 



The 

Train 'Boys' Yetl 




RE-RE-RE.AD 
OPIE READ 
IN THE. OZARKS 
YOU MUST READ 




PIE READ IN THE OZARf/ 



